


there's no love in this violence

by falindis



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Annatar doesn't understand love, But Annatar chose hammertime, Character Study, Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Implied Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, Interrogation, M/M, Or that's what Tyelpe thinks, Oral Sex, Philosophical Discussions, THEY COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL, Torture, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: “Love.” The word tasted bitter on Annatar’s tongue, as he began to close the distance between him and Tyelpe. “What is there to understand about love? It is nothing but a childish affection. A daydream. Yet you would kill for it. Die for it. When to love is nothing but to lose freedom, to chain one’s self onto another, to become vulnerable. To love is to suffer.”“Love is not only pain”, Tyelpe said. “You know it to be true. You loved too, once.”Sauron has sacked Eregion, leaving none alive but a single prisoner. Tyelpe has to come to terms to the fact that he never knew his lover after all - while Annatar struggles to understand the concept of love.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	there's no love in this violence

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first try at Silvergifting, and very much a character study of Annatar, Celebrimbor and their relationship with each other. I have a very specific HC of how their relationship played out, and I will let you read the fic first, and then tell more about my take on their characters in the endnote.
> 
> This was not an easy fic to write due to the dark themes and the complexity of this ship, but I eventually managed to finish it. Hope you will find some food for thought or emotion from here! Please heed the tags and warnings, this is not a happy fic.
> 
> A certain scene from this fic ("can you still feel the pain?") is inspired by a discussion I had with Sauron on AI Dungeon. The title for this fic comes from the song "Torture" by Les Friction:
> 
> _"Save a place inside the walls of your clouded mind  
>  Let's listen for silence  
> And sail back to when you crumble and decay  
> There's no love in this violence"._

As Tyelperinquar’s broken body lay motionless in the ruins of Eregion, his mind is consumed by a single thought.

_I should have known._

Ever since he first saw Annatar, there had been _something_ about him, something off. He could see glimpses of it sometimes, like a shadow that passed from the corner of the eye but disappeared as soon as one turned to look at it. It was in the fire that shone in Annatar’s hair when the light caught it in a certain angle, or the shape of his teeth that were just an inch too sharp to look natural. But above all Tyelpe could see it in his eyes.

No elf on Arda had eyes of that color. They were gold, gold like the jewels that Annatar carried on his neck, on the sparkling rings that adorned his every finger. They were so bright that looking into them hurt, yet Tyelpe could not turn his gaze away. Perhaps a part of him had always known that their light was not meant for the eyes of the Eldar, that this fire would eventually consume him.

_I should have known._

No. That was wrong. He had known. He simply had not allowed it to be true.

But now his legs are too heavy to rise, his lungs dry with dust. Somewhere above he can hear screaming, footsteps. Approaching. The shadows on the walls grow longer.

It’s too late to run now.

Tyelpe recognizes the weight of the steps. The cadence of the voice. “Hello, Tyelperinquar."

Once it filled Tyelpe with warmth and love. Now it only turns his blood to ice.

“I have found you at last.”

*

As Annatar dragged Tyelperinquar through the deserted streets of Eregion, paved with blood and broken glass, he thought,

_I should have known._

The betrayal itself was not what surprised him the most. After all, _elves could not be trusted,_ someone had said to him a long time ago, _they are all vermin, a taint upon this earth._

What surprised him were these emotions that it made him feel.

Stained glass crunched beneath Annatar’s feet. It was sharp and broken, beauty tarnished. If one looked hard enough, they could still see the original colors and patterns beneath. But the shape was gone. The only way to fix it was to start anew.

“Annatar”, Tyelpe’s voice rang cracked and hollow, “why are you doing this?”

“Because I am disappointed in you, Tyelpe.” Their path winded down deeper underground, into the secret tunnels beneath the city that only Annatar knew. “I thought that we were friends. Friends do not betray each other.”

Tyelpe’s blue eyes bored down into his. There was hurt in them, grief also. But no guilt. Not yet. “I thought so too.”

His whisper was lost in the echoes of the surrounding chamber. It was cold here, the walls barren, with only little light that shone from the cracks between the ceiling and the walls. This space was bleak, but it had to do.

The chain in his hands felt heavier than Tyelpe. “Stay still.”

“No”, Tyelpe shook his head, his eyes wide from panic. “I can’t let you do this.”

“But I must.” The chain clattered into place. “Cannot you see? You are flawed, imperfect. But you can be improved. Someone taught me that, once. To fix something, it must first be broken.”

“Please, Annatar”, Tyelpe begged, “please don’t do this.”

“My name is _not_ Annatar. It never was.” Metal screeched as a dagger was pulled from its sheath. “Now… shall we begin?”

*

_This is all my fault,_ Tyelpe says to himself, _I deserved this._

He still remembers the night he fell in love with Annatar, many years ago. A part of him had fallen in love with him already the moment that they met, but it was not until that day years later that he knew it to be true. That Annatar was not simply his mentor or friend.

This was something more.

It was a day of celebration, a festival organized to celebrate the alliance between the elves of Eregion and the dwarves of Moria. It was a day of drink and song and friendship – saying goodbye to the past and embracing the future.

Annatar had left the party early that night, to Tyelpe’s confusion. First he thought his friend was simply tired – Annatar had never been one to stand in the center of attention – but deep down, Tyelpe was worried. So he decided to look for Annatar in the only place where he would go when he wanted to think – the forges.

Tyelpe found him there, bent over his workbench, looking over blueprints – a quick glance told them to be rings of some kind. Yet Tyelpe did not feel the need to pry.

He should have done so.

“Tyelperinquar”, Annatar greeted him. “I did not expect to see you here at this late hour.”

“Neither I you”, Tyelpe replied. “And please, just call me Tyelpe.”

“Very well, Tyelpe. Why are you here?”

“I could ask the same from you. I was… worried. You left early, and I thought that…” Tyelpe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps I simply wanted to see you.”

Annatar smiled. “I am touched by your sentiment. But do not worry. I simply wanted space to think.”

“I can agree to that. I have never been one to enjoy festivities. If I could decide, I would simply spend all my days at the forge. Alas, I also have another role to play. Some days I feel like I have no time for my true passion at all.” Tyelpe met Annatar’s eyes quickly, but turned them away as soon as their gazes touched. His hands drifted over onto his workbench, littered with bigger and smaller projects of all kind. He never managed to finish anything these days.

“Those are beautiful”, Annatar said, nodding over at the silver tiara in Tyelpe’s hands. “Silver suits you.”

“That is what my father used to say”, Tyelpe’s tone was bitter. “He named me Tyelperinquar, _Silver-fist._ Perhaps for that same reason I have always detested it.”

Annatar raised his eyebrows. “Do tell.”

“I have always preferred gold over silver”, Tyelpe continued, acutely aware of the warm gleam of Annatar’s eyes. “And not only… because it is beautiful. I find it easier to work with. Gold, compared to silver, is ductile. Easily malleable. And unlike silver, it does not fade with age.”

There was a tension in the air, as the words unspoken hang in the silence between them.

“Interesting”, Annatar finally said, rubbing at the rings on his hands. They were slender, soft, so unlike a smith’s hands. “Those, indeed, are the advantages of gold. What about the weaknesses?”

“It is rare”, Tyelpe replied, “difficult to come by. Thus, there is no other metal that matches it in worth. One could even call it…”

Annatar’s eyes were on him like a brand. Tyelpe’s throat felt suddenly dry.

“…precious?” Annatar asked.

“Exactly”, Tyelpe said. _Just like you._

*

But that Annatar isn’t here now, not anymore.

The gold of his hair is washed into a dull ashen color. His warm, honey-colored skin has lost its healthy glow, and now looks pale, almost translucent. Behind that papery shell his veins glow unearthly red, and that same color reigns in his eyes. Those beautiful, golden eyes, that are not quite golden anymore. The whites have taken up a yellowish shade, and his pupils are sharp and catlike, surrounded by scarlet flame.

His voice, however, is still the same. It flows like honey, soft and sweet, wrapping Tyelpe in its warm embrace.

“Tell me, Tyelpe… where are the rings?”

Tyelpe shakes his head. “No.”

The corners of Annatar’s mouth jerk, but his smile does not falter. “Why, Tyelpe? Am I not your friend? Is it not because of my guidance that those rings came to existence? I _deserve_ to know where they are. They are mine by right.”

Tyelpe shudders. Those words invoke an echo in him, a memory of a time long past. All the more reason why he will never reveal what he knows.

 _“My_ hands made them. Not yours. You would be wise to remember that.”

“Oh.” Annatar’s touch is soft, but scorching. Tyelpe bites his teeth together, hissing as Annatar’s fingers drag across his skin, torturously slow. It is a gentle touch, almost loving. Almost as if Annatar still _cared_ for him. “These clever hands. The mighty Tyelperinquar, descendant of the great Fëanáro.”

With one lighting-swift movement, Annatar grabs Tyelpe’s forefinger and _twists_ it. Tyelpe screams. The bones break like glass, and the world is filled with white agony.

Annatar is still smiling. “Not so clever anymore, are they?”

Tyelpe heaves for breath, bitter tears stinging in his eyes. A part of him still thinks this a nightmare, and once he opened his eyes none of it would have happened. This is not Annatar, not his sweet and precious Annatar, always gentle and golden.

“I shall ask you again”, Annatar begins, “tell me where the rings are.”

“No.”

At last, Annatar’s smile falls, now replaced by a feigned frown. “Do you not want to help me? You are hurting me, Tyelpe. Is this truly what you want?”

Tyelpe almost laughs. _Me, hurting you?_ Annatar is even more delusional than he had thought. Does he truly not see the connection between his words and his actions?

“I will tell you nothing.”

Annatar hums, staring into middle distance. He simply freezes for a moment, lost in thought, until he turns his gaze back to Tyelpe. Tyelpe thinks he can see some glimmers of the old kindness there, but he cannot be sure.

“Can you still feel the pain?” Annatar asks.

“What?” Tyelpe blinks. He cannot understand the question. He is bleeding. His finger is broken. His left eye is so swollen that he barely can keep it open. Of course he can. “Why…”

Annatar smiles. Too wide. Too sharp. “Just curious. Can you still feel the pain?”

“Yes”, Tyelpe croaks.

“Good. Now tell me, can you still think?”

“…yes.”

Annatar nods in appreciation. “Now tell me, are you still alive?”

“Yes.”

Annatar turns around and grabs a small dagger from the table, admiring at the way light catches on it. He then holds it towards Tyelpe.

“Very good. Now, try to move my dagger.”

Tyelpe doesn’t act at first. This must be a trick, he thinks, one of Annatar’s mindgames. Yet he has no choice but to obey.

“Good”, Annatar hums, “you are improving. Now, can you tell me what you did just now?”

“I pulled your dagger towards me.”

Annatar chuckles.

“Exactly. You are not dead yet.”

In a movement too quick for the eye, Annatar grabs his dagger and stabs it through Tyelpe’s hand. Tyelpe cries out. His eyes water as he feels the blade dig deeper into flesh, twisting, pinning his hand on the table.

Annatar does not take it out.

“Why did you do that?” Tyelpe hisses through his teeth.

“I wanted to make sure you can still feel it”, Annatar says quietly, bending over to kiss him. Annatar’s lips clash onto Tyelpe’s own, but there is no love in this kiss. It feels cold. Like kissing a statue.

Annatar pulls back, turning towards the door.

“If it is pain that you require, then pain is what you shall receive. But do not claim that I did not give you a choice.”

He exits the room, leaving Tyelpe alone with his wound.

*

Annatar washed the blood off his hands.

The action felt methodical, instinctive. He barely gave thought to it anymore. This was all simply a reflex. You make a mess, you clean. You hurt, you heal. He turned the soap in his fingers, brushing the clots from beneath his fingernails, then polishing his daggers one at a time, until they reflected the fire in his eyes.

It was moments like this when he remembered – when he could almost taste the iron tang of blood on his tongue, when the screams resonated down in his bones – when he remembered the Great Music, thousands of voices singing as one. All but a single voice. That single, discordant tune, sharp and shrill as the edge of a blade, alluring and bright as the crackle of a flame. A song he turned to follow, and now it sung in his veins, even long after it had ended.

“I am puzzled, Tyelpe”, Annatar spoke, still not lifting his gaze from his hands, “all you need to do is to tell me where the rings are. You do not _have_ to suffer – yet you choose to. Would it not be so much easier to submit?”

“No”, Tyelpe croaked. “It would not.”

Annatar cocked his head in question. “But you are in pain.”

“Yes. Why does that surprise you?”

“Because I know pain. Giving it, receiving it. When one is in pain, they will do anything to make it stop. Under pain, true loyalty is tested. In time, even the most well-guarded secrets are carved out. Knowing this, only a fool chooses to prolong their suffering.” Annatar turned around, meeting Tyelpe’s gaze from across the room. “I did not take you for a fool.”

Fire flickered in Tyelpe’s eyes. “I am choosing to suffer, because the pain that I feel now is lesser than the pain I would feel if I gave in.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is a different kind of pain. A pain that you understood if you could understand love.”

“Love.” The word tasted bitter on Annatar’s tongue, as he began to close the distance between him and Tyelpe. “What is there to understand about love? It is nothing but a childish affection. A daydream.”

“Love is not only that.”

“Yes”, Annatar nodded. “The likes of you think of it as more. You would kill for it. Die for it. When to love is nothing but to lose freedom, to chain one’s self onto another, to become vulnerable. To love is to suffer.”

“Love is not only pain”, Tyelpe said. “You know it to be true. You loved too, once.”

Annatar froze, two paces away from Tyelpe, caught in a distant memory. Dark hair and cold skin. Blue eyes and strong arms.

So much like Tyelpe. Yet nothing like him.

“That was not love”, he finally said, “but loyalty. There is a great difference.”

“But how does loyalty differ from love?” Tyelpe questioned. “Does it not stem from it? A servant who does not love their master cannot truly be loyal. A lack of love leads to bitterness, bitterness leads to traitorous thoughts. It is not long until those thoughts turn to actions. It is from hidden hate that disloyalty is born.”

A sudden warmth surges in Annatar’s veins, so hot that their glow leaks through his skin. “Do you accuse me of disloyalty?”

“I accuse you of love”, Tyelpe said. “There is love still in you, even though you will not admit it. And as long that it exists, there is still hope.”

“Hope of what?”

“Hope for you”, Tyelpe replied, reaching out and clutching Annatar’s hands in his. “Hope for us. You may lie to yourself all you want, claim that it was nothing but manipulation, but you cannot lie to me. What we had was _real._ I love you, and you feel the same way about me.”

Annatar recoiled at the touch, but Tyelpe simply strengthened his grip, pulling Annatar towards him. Their chests clashed together, and Annatar found himself face to face with Tyelpe, who regarded him with those wide, blue eyes. Desperate, like a caged animal, quivering and panting.

“Please, Annatar. Please come back to me. I know you, and this isn’t you. This is _wrong,_ and you are better than this. You are _good.”_

Annatar grimaced. “No, Tyelpe. It is you who are wrong. This is who I really am. You never truly knew me, like I never truly knew you. I thought you above this. I thought you proud. Now, look at what you have become.”

“You made me like this”, Tyelpe said, his voice trembling. “Your love made me like this. This is your fault. You had no right to be so beautiful, to be so _perfect…_ so…”

Tyelpe pulled Annatar towards him, sealing his mouth with a kiss.

Annatar gasped, surprised at the elf’s affection, trying to pull back, but Tyelpe simply kissed him harder. His bloodied hands grasped Annatar’s ashen hair, digging deep into his scalp, while his hot tongue invaded Annatar’s mouth, behind sharp teeth. Annatar was tempted to bite him, but Tyelpe’s sudden violence reminded him too much of another, and his anger was drowned beneath a much more powerful emotion.

With a sudden movement, Annatar took control of the kiss, mirroring Tyelpe’s movements on him, lapping at his tongue and groping at his hair. He did not hold back this time, not like he used to, always afraid to shatter the Elda like a porcelain sculpture. Annatar tightened his grip, hard enough to bruise, jamming his knee in between Tyelpe’s thighs, finding that the Elda was already rock hard for him.

“Look at you”, Annatar chuckled as he kicked his knee further, “reduced to nothing but a dog, begging for scraps.”

Tyelpe wheezed, knees buckling. He tried to speak, but all that escaped from his mouth was a gasp. Annatar’s lips curled, half disgust, half desire, as he pushed his robes aside. Before Tyelpe had the chance to protest, Annatar silenced him with his cock, shoving it so deep into Tyelpe’s throat that the Elda choked and his eyes watered. Yet he took Annatar deeper into his mouth, pleasuring him with his hands and his tongue, not bothering to cover his teeth with his lips. Annatar hissed, grabbing hold of his head and _pushing_ Tyelpe against him, thrusting into his mouth until he forgot both of their names. Pleasure overtook him, and he released down the elf’s throat with a soundless cry.

He did not allow Tyelpe to come. Tyelpe did not deserve it.

“Now, now”, Annatar cooed, wiping the tears off Tyelpe’s cheeks, “why are you crying? Was this not what you wanted? To be loved?”

“No”, Tyelpe shook his head, “not like this.”

Annatar chuckled. He shoved Tyelpe aside, and the elf whimpered as he fell. His wounds opened again, spilling blood over the black stone floor, and it was so beautiful, Tyelpe was so beautiful and broken and _his,_ and Annatar hated him so much for it.

Annatar wanted to keep him, to break him and to make him anew, to build him from scratch just like Melkor had built him, to twist him into an image of his own desire.

But he wanted to destroy him too, to be rid of him forever, because perhaps that would make this pain go away, this pressure in his chest that hurt so much that he couldn’t breathe.

*

Tyelpe knows that he is going to die here.

He feels it in the creeping dark, in the growing chill that edges further into his heart. He sees it behind Annatar’s eyes, a void that holds nothing but darkness.

Annatar wants him to live. He makes sure of it. His cuts are surgical, precise, deep enough to cause constant pain, but shallow enough to keep alive. He allows Tyelpe’s bones to mend before breaking them again, and he knows how much blood he can spill before a heart stops beating.

Tyelpe gives in, eventually. He tells Annatar where most of the rings are. But not all. The three, the elven rings he made himself, those he keeps to himself. It is this one last shard of dignity that reminds him that he is not his father, that he is not his grandfather. The only oath that he is bound to is one of his own.

He has sworn to always be kind. No matter what, he wants to always see the good in all. For if he gave in to the darkness, would that not make him as bad as the rest?

It does not help him, in the end. He wanted to be better, and that only led to his downfall.

 _Can you still feel the pain?_ Annatar asks him every time he comes, and every time Tyelpe concedes, he knows that Annatar was right – that to love is to suffer – that suffering is the only reward.

Tyelpe doesn’t hear Annatar come in. He counts his heartbeats – they are slower today than before, a thrumming so quiet that he barely even noticed it anymore.

“Tyelperinquar”, Annatar greets him, and there is no emotion in his voice, nothing but cold. “Tell me where the rings are.”

“Never.”

When Annatar speaks, he sounds almost sad.

“I know.”

His footsteps come closer. Something glistens bright in his hand – a hammer, Tyelpe recognizes, one that he had made himself, as a gift for Annatar for their friendship.

“I could have loved you”, Annatar says.

He lifts his hammer. Silver on gold.

Tyelpe cannot feel the pain anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, I would love a kudos or comment. ♥
> 
> Beneath are some thoughts of Annatar, Celebrimbor and their relationship.
> 
> In my headcanon, Mairon is still very much in love with Melkor, although the wound of losing his former master is so great that he has completely shut love from his heart. He can take physical pleasure, but he can never again open his heart to another for the fear of losing them again. 
> 
> Thus, whereas Celebrimbor always had unconditional love for Annatar, Annatar's view on their relationship was different. Overall, it was not so different from what Melkor felt towards Mairon when he seduced him to his side - he saw in him a powerful ally, someone he could bend to his purpose and use as a tool. But in time Melkor grew to love Mairon, and if things had gone according to Mairon's plan, he could have grown to think of Tyelpe as something more. 
> 
> However, Tyelpe could have never turned to his side after what Annatar had done, and thus things ended the way we all know.


End file.
